Reichenbach Redemption
by Fan Gals
Summary: Post-Reichenbach Sherlolly AU. Now that the whole world thinks he's dead, Sherlock must try to tear down Moriarty's web with the help of Molly Hooper. Sequel to Reichenbach Misunderstandings, but not Aspie!Sherlock continuation.
1. Chapter 1

**It's finally here. The sequel we've all been waiting for is here. If you haven't read my first story, Reichenbach Misunderstandings, go do so before staring on this fic. Otherwise you will be all like 'what?'.**

 **You guys were so enthusiastic about Reichenbach Misunderstandings that I was left with some big expectations to meet, so I really hope you guys aren't disappointed.**

 **I will try my very hardest to update on a somewhat weekly schedule. Hopefully every Friday.**

 **Also, big heads up. This is a die-hard Sherlolly story. There will be everything from fluff to post-reichenbach domestic!lock to nerdy debates (because Molly just** ** _has_** **be a fangirl.)**

 **Long author's note done.**

 **I own nothing.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly Hooper was in shock.

You would be too if you had just killed a man.

Well, technically, she didn't _kill_ him. She had aided him in faking his death though.

Close enough, right?

She felt a giddy laugh bubbling up in her throat and pressed her lips together in an attempt to contain it. _The man you had a crush on just died,_ she chided herself. _This is no time to blow your cover._

Keeping the facade of a mourning friend wasn't difficult. The tears that stained her pale cheeks and the red around her eyes were quite real. Seeing John had been upsetting on its own, but getting a call from Claudette and Max's parents, with the kids sobbing in the background, had opened the floodgates and started up the waterworks.

Molly continued down the street towards her small flat. Sherlock would be waiting there for her.

She allowed a small sigh to escape her lips. The last few days had been so hectic and crazy that she had been given practically no time to think about her infatuation.

Or the fact that Sherlock's demeanor around her had completely changed since the explosion at the hospital.

 _Stop it, Molly._ She had arrived at her flat. Fishing the keys out of her pocket, she shoved the ridged metal into the lock and unlocked the door. She slipped inside the room, shoving the door shut behind her and locking it.

"Hello, Molly."

Stifling a scream, Molly whipped around, eyes wide. She relaxed when her mind caught up with her reflexes and realized it was only Sherlock, "Hi."

"Hm, you're tense," he observed.

That giddy laugh finally escaped Molly's lips, but she could already feel the tension being replaced by exhaustion.

"Probably a result of built up stress over the past few days and the overwhelming amount of work you've had to deal with. Easily remedied by a cup of tea."

"Ah, is that so?" Molly asked, half listening and faking a smile. She felt exhausted and, whether or not she liked the man, she did not have th patience to listen to him at the moment.

"I recommend you sit," he continued. "The adrenaline should wear off soon."

"Mm," Molly hummed. She leaned back against the door, pressing her head against the wood and letting her eyes close.

There was suddenly a cold feeling on her elbow and Molly lazily swatted at it. Her eyes shot open as she realized it was a hand. _Sherlock's_ hand.

The detective gently tugged on her arm and she attempted to obey, removing her weight from where it rested against the door. Almost immediately, her legs buckled.

Sherlock acted instinctually, one arm slipping around Molly's waist and back, the other supporting her knees. Molly was too tired to care and allowed her head to slump against Sherlock's shoulder.

Sleep claimed her within moments.

* * *

Sherlock uncomfortably shifted the limp form of the young woman in his arms. Molly was by no means heavy or large. It was more the fact that he wasn't used to being close to people that caused his discomfort.

This wasn't the first time Sherlock had been in this position with Molly.

The first time had been at 221B Baker Street. They had just tucked in Claudette and Max, the children of the American Ambassador. Molly had fallen asleep in his arms then, too.

This time, Molly had more than a couch to sleep on. Sherlock carried her to her room and set her down on the bed, one arm wrapped around her back. He gently slid Molly's lab coat off her arms, tossing it haphazardly on the side table next to the bed, and pulled off her shoes, setting them on the floor.

Sherlock removed his arm, allowing Molly to fall back in bed. She turned over onto her side, one hand tucked under her head and her legs curled in towards her body in a fetal position.

A smile settled on her face.

That was when Sherlock decided to keep Molly safe by doing what he did best: pushing people away. All he was going to act towards Molly was distant and uncaring.

Sherlock lingered for a moment, watching his pathologist silently. A pang of guilt tightened inside of his chest as he looked down at his selfless friend. He then turned and left the room. He had work to do.

* * *

 **First chapter done.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**You know how I said I'd try to update every Friday? Well, I couldn't wait.**

 **Second chapter, coming through!**

 **I own nothing.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly awoke to find herself wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She stared questioningly at her apparel, wondering why she had fallen asleep without changing.

There was a light tapping from outside the door, like fingers tapping against computer keys.

Reality hit her so suddenly that she nearly fell out of bed. Sitting up, eyes wide, Molly took a moment to process everything that had happened since the day before.

She had helped Sherlock fake his death. Almost everyone who knew him was mourning. He was staying at her flat.

Oh good gosh. Sherlock Holmes was in her flat.

Molly flopped back in bed, scrunching her eyes closed. She tried to convince herself it was all a bad dream. That when she opened her eyes, everything would be normal again. She would be heading off to Bart's for her shift that evening, meeting up with Sherlock and John to help out with a case or experiment, and marathoning Glee with Toby sprawled out on her lap after work.

She opened her eyes. She could still feel the scratchy woolen fabric of the sweater she had worn to work that day. She could still the clicking of someone typing on a computer.

Her crazy past few days weren't a crazy dream.

Great. Just great. Now she had to babysit a genius. And a genius she had a crush on at that.

With a groan, Molly forced herself to get up and change. It was going to be a long day, and despite to protesting of her muscles and head as she got to her feet, she wasn't going to start it by sleeping in.

* * *

Toby was a surprisingly calming presence. He sat on the coffee table next to Sherlock's laptop.

Sherlock sat on Molly's couch, eyes focused on the laptop he was borrowing from Molly. His hair was still wet from the shower he had taken after putting Molly to bed. It had been a chore to wash the fake blood out of his already chaotic curls.

Sherlock had a certain talent for research. It came with the business of being a consulting detective. When Sherlock needed to know something, he'd look it up.

And with everything that had happened, he had a lot of research to do.

He had started with the files he received from Mycroft upon arriving at Molly's flat. There were a lot of obvious leads to begin with, from the Black Lotus to some of the Woman's clients. Many of the other members of Moriarty's web were and would be much more obscure. Not all of Moriarty's underlings were idiots after all.

Sherlock lost track of time after the first three people he researched. Each confirmed member had a labeled tack that was placed on a map he had spread out on Molly's coffee table. That way, any target's movement could be tracked and patterns could be observed, allowing Sherlock to intercept his prey when the time came to take them out.

It was all a very efficient machine, allowing Sherlock to unravel the spider's web as soon as possible and return to his old life.

Unfortunately, it would mean staying in London for quite some time and using Molly's flat as a bolt-hole. That would put Molly at risk.

And Sherlock wasn't all too fond of putting Molly in harm's way.

Or his other friends for that matter.

 _No_ , he quickly caught himself. _Don't think about them._

It was surprisingly difficult for Sherlock to think about his friends. It always made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't exactly describe the feeling, but it brought up memories of Molly at the Christmas party and John's disappointed face as his humiliated ex-girlfriends fled.

His thoughts were interupted as Molly slumped into the living room. Her hair had been tied into a messy bun and her clothes from yesterday had been replaced with sweatpants and yet another one of her sweaters. Her eyes were still red and raw from all the crying she had done the day before.

After a quick once over, Sherlock returned his gaze to his computer screen, "Morning."

"Mm, morning, Sherlock," Molly said. Her voice was thick from sleep, and the skin under her eyes was a shade darker than it was yesterday, but not dark enough to be considered bags.

There was a silence as Molly set to work making tea for the two of them. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't awkward either, as neither of them had anything interesting or important to say.

It wasn't until Molly sat next to him and sat a cup of tea next to his laptop that Sherlock spoke up, "Am I correct in assuming that I have permission to use your flat until I see fit to return to the world of the living?"

Molly blinked, obviously not anticipating the blunt question, "Yes, of course."

"Excellent," Sherlock remarked, folding his fingers under his chin as he scanned an article about one of Moriarty's underlings.

Molly leaned towards the computer, perhaps curious as to what kind of research Sherlock was doing. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow at her before going back to reading.

Symbiosis came to mind as Sherlock reached for his tea. Molly was providing him with food and shelter, while he was providing reading material. It was hardly a fair trade, but Molly didn't seem to mind and Sherlock certainly wasn't complaining.

In fact, it was going to make avoiding his feelings very difficult. Either way, Sherlock was grateful.

"I will need you to run out later," Sherlock spoke up. Molly looked up at him once more and he added, "I need you to pick up a few things for me. I can't go out on my own, being dead and all."

"Um, okay," Molly said quietly. Sherlock probably could've avoided mentioning how he was supposed to be dead. Oh, well.

"And you won't need to go into work today. If yesterday was any indication, you need some rest. I'm sure Stanford will understand."

"Right," Molly replied. A glance at Molly's relieved face made a warm feeling bubble up in his stomach.

Yep. Staying away from his pathologist wasn't going to be easy.

They stayed that way for quite some time, quietly sipping their tea, listening to Toby meowing and reading up on Moriarty's web.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Just a note, this chapter is somewhat fluffy.**

 **I own nothing.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It was Molly who made the brilliant suggestion that they should start in Italy. There were many confirmed members of Moriarty's web there, all of which rarely traveled and were relatively out in the open.

She came up with the idea around noon on the first full day Sherlock spent at Molly's flat. They had been examining files all morning (except for when they had called St. Bart's and informed Mike Stanford that Molly wasn't coming in to work that day. Mike was very understanding.) and Molly had been fixing herself some lunch. Sherlock still insisted that eating slowed him down, but had moved to the kitchen table at her insistence. A stack of files sat on the counter, nestled between a small tissue box and Toby, so they were much more easily accessible from the table.

"Molly, that's positively brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed after pondering the suggestion for a moment.

Toby jumped up, startled, and darted into the living room.

Molly looked up from where she was fixing a bowl of salad, startled by his sudden response. He practically skipped over to her before pressing a kiss to her forehead. He pulled away immediately after and it was too sudden for Molly to even blush.

"I just need to aquire tickets and a falsified passport from Mycroft. Then I'll be on my way within a week," Sherlock muttered to himself as he returned to the kitchen table and began to type even faster than he had previously.

Molly cautiously crept over to the table, setting two bowls of salad on the table. She kept one for herself and the other she set next to Sherlock's laptop, hoping to trick him into eating some.

"After that I'll return," Sherlock continued, his fingers steepled under his chin as he took in the information on the computer screen.

"You're really leaving?" Molly asked timidly, "So soon?" She took a bite of salad.

"Yes, Molly. Do try to keep up," Sherlock responded impatiently.

Molly set her fork in her bowl and bit her bottom lip, forcing down the hurt the statement had conjured. _It's not as if you aren't used to it,_ the little voice at the back of her head scolded. She pushed away the degrading voice and contented herself with observing Sherlock's expression as it morphed from mania to annoyance.

Sherlock continued to frown at the information he had pulled up regarding the Italian contacts. Molly could tell that he was bothered by something it said.

After a moment, he leaned back in his chair, sighing in an aggravated way. Frustration was present on his face.

Molly hesitated for a moment, then stood and walked over to where Sherlock was glaring at his laptop. She gently reached out and lowered the screen so it was halfway closed.

Sherlock made a noise of protest, but didn't object when Molly took hold of his hand and guided it to the fork next to the salad bowl. When he looked up at her, his gaze more questioning than hostile, Molly spoke on stern word, "Eat."

Molly sat back down and looked over at Sherlock to see him glaring at her. A little triumphant part of her realized that it was halfhearted.

They locked eyes, staring, both of them willing the other to back down. Shockingly, it was Sherlock who broke it off, giving a resigned sigh, forcing a forkful of lettuce into his mouth and refusing to look her in the eye. Molly smirked and leaned back in her chair, a feeling of sweet satisfaction settling the nervous butterflies in her stomach.

She wondered if this is how John had felt whenever he had convinced Sherlock to eat.

Her good mood plummeted as she thought of John. Thinking of poor John forced her mind to focus on Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and the kids.

She lost it at the thought of how broken down Claudette and Max would be feeling. She pressed a hand to her mouth as the burning sensation of hot tears pricked the back of her eyes. A strangled sob, barely muffled by her palm, escaped Molly's throat.

Sherlock looked up at her in confusion, "Molly? What is it?"

Molly shook her head, scrubbing at her eyes furiously with the sleeve of her sweater. A lump arose in her throat and she swallowed, attempting to rid herself of that disgusting, upset feeling she experienced before crying.

Sherlock seemed at a loss, but settled on getting up and walking over to Molly. On the way, he grabbed the tissue box off the kitchen counter and crouched next to her, offering it to her.

"Th-thanks," Molly choked. She kept one hand over her face and reached for a tissue with the other. Sherlock nodded somewhat awkwardly.

"I'm j-just thinking about e-everyone who thinks you're d-dead," Molly shakily explained between gaspsing sobs.

"I'm not dead, Molly," Sherlock told her in a way he hoped was comforting.

"They think you are," Molly mumbled. "They must be so b-broken up over it."

Sherlock personally found that hard to believe for the most part, but he knew better to argue further and kept quiet. The only people he could imagine being upset aside from Claudette and Max were Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and John, his only real friends other than Molly.

He forced down the guilt and loneliness the thought of them triggered. Molly was a mess and it wouldn't do her any good if he was a mess too.

Eventually Molly's sobs died down, but until they did, Sherlock remained by her side.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Molly and John meet up in this chapter.**

 **I own nothing.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Molly left her flat, shopping list in hand, later that afternoon. She had calmed down after her breakdown and ready to start helping out Sherlock.

Until she ran into John at the store.

When she saw him, her eyes widened, and she turned to quickly walk away and avoid detection. It didn't quite work out, as she heard the hoarse call of "Molly?" from behind her.

Molly winced, not wanting to deal with the pain and guilt of facing John. She then forced her expression to become somber and heartbroken. She turned around, "John?"

"I thought you'd be at work," John said softly. His eyes were bloodshot and he was slumped over.

"I took the day off," Molly responded. "I thought _you'd_ be at home."

"No," John shook his head. He shifted his weight and Molly noticed something nauseating.

He was using his cane again.

"I needed to get out. 221B reminds me to much of _him_ ," John explained, his voice cracking on the last word. He looked at his feet, swollowed, and looked back up at the pathologist standing opposite of him.

Molly nodded, unable to form words. A lump pressed against her throat, giving her the unmistakable need to vomit. She fought down the sensation.

They stood in silence for a moment before Molly dared to ask, "Are you going to move out?"

"Yes," John hesitantly confirmed. "Mrs. H has offered a special deal so I could remain there, but-"

"It's too painful," Molly finished for him. He grimaced and looked back down at his feet.

"Will Mary take you in, then?"

"She's offered, but I still need to get back to her."

"Okay."

There was a pause.

"Well, it was nice seeing you. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call," Molly said, reaching out and touching his arm. She turned to leave, but was stopped by John's rushed words, "Good gosh, I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't stop to think about what this must be like for you."

Molly turned around once more, tears welling up in her eyes. John's gaze caught her's and she quickly attempted to blink them away as he continued, "I know it probably doesn't help, but you meant something to him. He trusted you."

He paused for a moment, "The funeral's tomorrow. You're welcome to come."

"I know," Molly replied shakily. She couldn't bare John's understanding gaze any longer, "Goodbye, John."

She fled the store.

* * *

Sherlock had it all mapped out. Every single target's location and movements were tracked and planned out. He had an endless number of backup plans and 'what ifs' worked out. In almost every scenario, he was alone.

It would've been intimidating to most, but for Sherlock it was simply a new challenge.

There was the sound of a door being thrown open and slammed shut, then a call quiet enough for the neighbors to overlook, but loud enough for Sherlock to hear, came from the living room, "I'm home!"

Sherlock kept quiet, attempting to focus on his work around the sound of Molly bustling around in the kitchen and bathroom. There was a sudden ceasing of footsteps.

"Sherlock?"

He remained silent.

"Sherlock! Please don't tell me you ran off!"

The door opened and the room flooded with light. Sherlock looked up. Molly slumped against the doorframe as she laid eyes on him, her relief morphing into aggravation.

"Sherlock, what are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Your cat stole the couch."

Molly raised an eyebrow at that, "Toby stole the couch? That's why you're in my room?"

"It was the next best place for me to work."

"Why not, I dunno, the kitchen table?"

"It's already covered with other files," Sherlock replied. He looked up at Molly over his laptop. She appeared unamused.

"Well, you'll need to move everything later. This is still my room and I'm still going to use it. By the way, I picked up the stuff you wanted," Molly held out the bags she held.

Sherlock didn't even look at them, instead looking back at his computer, "Put them in the bathroom."

Molly rolled her eyes and walked away, bags in hand. After a moment, she called out, "What's this for anyway?"

"Disguises. For when I leave for Italy," Sherlock said absentmindedly.

Molly reappeared in the doorway, "What do you mean 'you'? I'm coming too, right?"

"No," Sherlock looked up at Molly with a shockingly intense expression. "You are going to stay right here where you're safe."

Molly felt a sudden, uncharacteristic boldness, "Last time I checked, I was my own person. Don't I get any say in this?"

"No."

"For the love of - I can handle myself! I mean, you might need a good pathologist or medic. I might not be licensed, but I went through the training in uni. How hard can shooting a gun be anyway?"

"Molly-"

"No! You listen to me. I'm not going to wait around not knowing if you're alive or not. I can't handle that. Don't make me-"

"I can't lose you too!"

Molly froze, staring open-mouthed at Sherlock. He sat there, chin held high, his face showing no emotion.

He didn't regret his feelings, but he did regret voicing them.

"No one else knows I'm alive. Without you I only have Mycroft to talk to," Sherlock quickly amended his statement. Molly appeared to deflate a little at his words.

"I still want to go with you," she said quietly after a moment of silence.

Sherlock gave a long-suffering sigh, "Fine. You can come. But if you're hurt, or it gets too dangerous, you're going back home."

"Deal."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sherlock's funeral.**

 **I own nothing.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock didn't want her to go. Molly didn't want to go either.

They both knew she had to attend the funeral to avoid suspicion.

Sherlock sat on the couch typing as Molly got ready to go. He was actually quite curious to see what his funeral would be like. He always expected it to be ocupied by over emotional aquantances and several celebrating nemesises, but one could never be sure.

After all, a funeral required the person it's for to be dead. This was a rare occasion where his funeral could take place without his death taking place.

"How do I look?"

Sherlock turned around to face Molly as she spoke. Her hair was let loose and she wore no makeup, just a simple black dress and heels. She paused for a moment, reconsidering her words, and amended her statement, "On second thought, don't answer that."

"Try to avoid giving anything away," Sherlock remarked, dismissing her prior words.

"Will do," Molly replied, already on her way to the door.

"One more thing," Sherlock added.

Molly stalled, a nearly silent breath leaving her nose and, Sherlock suspected, rolling her brown eyes, "Yes?"

"Can you," Sherlock hesitated, eyes flickering briefly to the right.

"Can I what?" Molly asked, her expression losing some of its annoyance.

"Make sure that Claudette and Max are fine?"

Molly's lips parted and her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch before lowering once more into a worried and mournful expression. There was no doubt that the request had surprised her.

"Of course, Sherlock," Molly said quietly.

Sherlock nodded in a satisfied manner and returned his gaze to his laptop. Molly quietly walked out the door, shutting it with a soft click.

* * *

"Oh, Molly!" Mrs. Hudson cried out as the pathologist stepped foot into the cemetery where Sherlock's "body" was being buried.

Molly gave the elderly landlady a soft smile as Mrs. Hudson threw her arms around her.

"It means so much to us that you could be here," Mrs. Hudson pulled away from the hug sniffling.

"Molly."

Molly swallowed the lump in her throat as John hobbled foreward, Mary at his side.

"Hello, John, Mary."

Mary smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. John looked sorrowful as he nodded at her.

Feeling a need to fill the silence, Molly looked over at John, "How are you?"

"This doesn't feel real," he replied looking down at his shoes. Mary squeezed his hand in support.

Guilt clawed at Molly's stomach. A voice in her head called her a traitor as she forced herself to speak, "I know."

Mrs. Hudson sniffled and wrapped her arm around Molly's shoulders. The young woman blinked back tears.

 _This isn't real. This isn't real._

"Aunt Molly!"

Molly turned towards the source of the yells to see Claudette and Max dashing towards her. Their parents stood behind them, saddened expressions on their faces. The whole family wore black.

Molly gently detached Mrs. Hudson's arm from around her and knelt to catch Max, who had spotted her before his sister did, in her arms. Claudette soon followed suit. Both children clung to her, sobbing. Molly knelt on the ground, holding them and stroking their hair in a comforting manner.

John, Mary and Mrs. Hudson watched the scene silently. Everyone else at the funeral minded their own business, ignoring Molly, Claudette and Max. To any outsider, it looked as if a young widow was comforting her two young children. Rufus and Georgiana stepped foreward, remaining close by but providing the trio with enough room for mourning.

Claudette and Max finally pulled back enough for Molly to see their faces. Their eyes were red and puffy and wet with tears. Their expressions were anguished.

After a moment, Claudette reached up and cupped Molly's face, "Aunt Molly, you're crying."

An odd mix between a laugh and a sob fell from Molly's lips, "Am I?"

Max nodded solemnly, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handkerchief.

"Thank you," Molly said quietly, accepting the tissue.

She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Mary. She helped Molly to her feet and the children grabbed onto Molly's hands desperately, as if terrified that she would leave them as well.

They made their way towards the grave that would soon be occupied by Sherlock's coffin.

Well, technically they would be lowering an empty coffin. The funeral was a formality. As far as everyone else was concerned, Sherlock's body wouldn't be buried for another few weeks. Molly knew that they would be burying another corpse in a few weeks.

* * *

"Will we be able to come and visit you, Aunt Molly?" Max asked as they walked away from the freshly dug grave. He and Claudette each clung to one of Molly's hands as they exited the cemetery.

"Of course," Molly replied at once. Then she remembered that there was a supposedly dead man hiding in her flat. "We'll have to schedule things beforehand."

The three of them passed a young, sad looking man. He nodded at them as they passed and Molly realized he must've been one of Sherlock's clients. In fact, a lot of the people in attendance were people Sherlock had helped over the years.

 _Oh, Sherlock,_ Molly thought to herself sadly. _You have no idea how many people you've made a difference for._

"Okay," Max replied. His grip on her hand tightened.

"You know, I'm going out of the country for a while sometime soon and I can give you my number so we can stay in touch," Molly suggested.

"Wait, you're leaving?" John asked. This was news to everyone, but he was the one to voice their surprise.

"Yes," Molly replied with a small smile. "I've got some vacation hours saved up, so I'm going to take a little trip. I thought a change of scenery would be good for me."

"Where are you planning on going?" Mary inquired with a supportive smile.

"As of now? Italy." Molly removed her hands from Claudette and Max's clutches, pulled a piece of paper and pen from her pocket, and jotted down her number. She handed it off to Georgiana, who accepted it with a grateful smile.

Returning her attention to Claudette and Max, she knelt down to put herself eye level and told them, "Call me whenever you like. If I don't answer the phone, leave a message for me, alright?"

"Okay," the two children answered in sync.

"And we can still call you when you're gone?" Claudette finally spoke up with a hopeful expression on her tear stained face.

"Of course you can, sweetheart," Molly gave Claudette's hand a squeeze and looked up at the pair's parents.

"Alright you two," Rufus smiled at his children. "You can call your Aunt Molly later. Get in the car."

"Good," Molly said. The pair gave Molly one last hug before leaving with their parents. The others drifted away as well and Molly was left standing alone at the edge of a cemetery that had just held a funeral for a man who was still alive.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

**So, so sorry about the late update! I've been busy with schoolwork and homework.**

 **I own nothing.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock was in his mind palace when Molly got back.

Which was totally fine for her. She didn't feel up to talking that much anyways.

Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed quite eager to talk, as he rapidly muttered to himself while sorting through his information.

Molly slipped off her heels in the doorway, trying to make as little noise as possible and slip to her room unnoticed. She set them next to the door and quietly made her way towards her room.

Halfway to her room, Sherlock's muttering stopped. Molly paused, then kept walking.

"How was the funeral?"

Molly jumped at the noise and sighed quietly, looking over her shoulder at Sherlock, "Fine."

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed in reply. He leaned back on the couch, pressing the pads of his fingers together and setting them under his chin.

Molly slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. She promptly pressed her back to the door and slid down onto the floor, and allowed her tears to fall.

* * *

Sebastian Moran was cleaning his favorite sniper rifle when James Moriarty flopped onto his couch.

It had been only three days ago when Jim had faked his own suicide on the roof of St. Bart's and prompted the suicide of genius Sherlock Holmes. In that time, Sebastian had set up monitors and cameras in order to check up on goings-on in London, just as his contract had instructed him to. Sebastian had no idea where Jim had been before showing up on his doorstep, and he wasn't planning on asking anytime soon.

The part-time assassin rolled his eyes. His boss acted more like a happy-go-lucky puppy than a murderous psychopath. Sebastian had seen both and wasn't sure which he preferred. The psychopathic side of Jim was frightening, but the easily excitable side was just plain annoying.

"Hello, Seb! How's the view?" Jim asked with a cheery grin.

"It looks like Sherlock Holmes is gone for good. His funeral was yesterday and everyone was just broken up," Sebastian informed his employer, his tone becoming much more patronizing at the end of his sentence.

"Aw, well isn't that a shame," Jim remarked with a sniffle. Even Sebastian had to admit he was a pretty good actor.

"Yes, well," Sebastian cleared his throat and set his newly polished rifle in its case. "Anything more you want me to do, boss?"

"Pfft," Jim waved him off. "Nah, take the first few days to relish in our success. Then we shall see where little Sherly has gone now."

Sebastian frowned, "You mean Sherlock? Isn't he dead?"

"No, no, no, no, no," Jim replied. He hopped up from the couch and skipped over to the kitchen table where Sebastian had stationed himself. "Sherlock is much too stubborn for that, Seb. May I call you Seb? Yes? Thanks!"

He continued before the newly christened Seb could protest. "He faked his suicide just like I faked mine! Well not exactly the same way, but using the same concept."

"Uh huh," Seb replied, slightly unconvinced.

"Ooh, I knew you were a clever one. You see it don't you, the difference between us?"

"Um, sorry." In truth, Seb could name quite a few differences between the two men, though he was unsure which one Jim had in mind.

There was a long suffering sigh, "Maybe you aren't so clever. Sir Boast-a-lot is on the side of the Angels."

"Yah, so?"

"It means he has to play by the rules," Jim giggled to himself, looking absolutely delighted by the prospect. "That means I'm ahead. But I like a challenge. I'm going to give Sherlock a chance to catch up with the front runners in this race before I make my move."

* * *

"Molly, we leave tomorrow!"

Molly looked up from her dinner, "What?"

It had only been a day since Sherlock's funeral, but already Sherlock had gotten himself into one of his extremely productive moods. He had been working nonstop since her return from the cemetery.

"We leave for Italy tomorrow, Molly. Didn't you hear me the first time?" Sherlock asked in a slightly annoyed huff.

"Sherlock, I still have work. I need to specify when I'm leaving a week in advance, I can't just drop everything and go," Molly explained to the overexcited genius.

"Mycroft will take care of it," Sherlock countered. Molly really didn't have anything to say to that.

"But..then…oh alright, Sherlock. I'll start packing."

Molly's mobile began to ring. Both of them froze and looked at each other, before Molly reached for her phone and checked the caller ID.

She sighed in relief, told Sherlock to be quiet, and answered the call, "Max, sweetheart, how are you?"

Sherlock perked up at the mention of his underage friend and adopted a stance next to Molly.

"Yes, it's final. I'm leaving for Italy tomorrow."

She smiled at Sherlock as he approached before putting the call on speaker.

"-must send us some post cards. Italy, wow! That's so exciting. Send us lots of pictures, okay?"

"Of course I will, darling. Is your sister there?"

"Yes, here she is." There was a muffled crackling as the phone switched hands, then, "Hi, Aunt Molly!"

Molly glanced up at Sherlock as Claudette's voice filled the room. He swallowed thickly, his face shadowed with regret.

"Hello, dear. How are you today?"

"I'm…fine, I guess," Claudette responded, her voice becoming much more somber.

"That's good, sweetie. I'm leaving for Italy tomorrow, and I won't be able to call until I get there."

"Alright."

"Good girl. Now I've got to go do some packing. Give your family my love."

"Yes, Aunt Molly. I love you!"

Molly felt her voice crack as she replied, "I love you too, darling. Bye."

Sherlock was silent even after the call ended. He glared down at his shoes. Why had he dragged those two kids into this? They didn't need that sort of thing in their lives.

His thoughts were interrupted by Molly's hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her and she gently smiled at him, "Don't blame this on yourself, Sherlock. It's no crime to care for someone."

Before Sherlock could protest, she gave his shoulder a squeeze and disappeared into her room.

Sherlock felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth even as his heart clenched in his chest.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading.**


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